Chapter 39 - The Hunt of the Wild Horse by Mayne Reid
Scaling the Cliff
Oh, for a long interval of darkness!
Our hearts beat anxiously—at least I can answer for my own. Rube watched the guerrilleros, permitting his head to be seen by them. My eyes were bent upon the rocky wall, but through the thick darkness I looked in vain for our comrade. I listened to hear how he was progressing; I could distinguish a slight scratching against the cliff, each moment higher and farther away; but Garey climbed with a moccasined foot, and the noise was too faint to reach the ears of our enemies. Oh, for a long interval of darkness!
It appeared a long one; perhaps it was not five minutes, but it felt twice that, before the lightning again blazed forth.
With the flash, I ran my eyes up the precipitous wall. Oh, God! Garey was still upon its face, as yet scarce midway up. He was standing on a ledge—his body flattened against the rock—and with his arms extended horizontally, he presented the appearance of a man crucified upon the cliff!
So long as the glare lasted, he remained in this attitude, motionless as the rock itself.
I turned with anxious look towards the guerrilleros. I heard no voice; I observed no movement. Thank Heaven! they saw him not!
Near where he was resting, some bushes of the trailing cedar grew out of the cliff; their dark foliage mottled its white face, rendering the form of the climber less conspicuous.
Another long spell of darkness, another blaze of light.
I scanned the gorge: no human form was visible. I saw a dark line that, like a crack, vertically intersected the cliff from parapet to base: it was the rope Garey had carried up. He had reached the summit in safety!
It was my turn next—for Rube insisted on retaining the post of danger—and with my rifle slung on my back, I stood ready. I had given the parting whisper to my brave steed, and pressed his velvet muzzle to my cheek.
With the last flicker of the electric gleam, I seized the hanging lazo, and drew myself upward.
I had confidence in the rope: I knew it was fastened above, or safe in the strong grasp of Garey.
With its aid, the ascent was rendered easy. I experienced no difficulty in climbing from ledge to ledge, and before the light came again, I had reached the crest of the cliff.
We lay flat among the bushes that grew by the very brink, scarcely showing our faces to the front.
I saw that the rope had been fastened round the trunk of a small tree.
Presently we perceived by its jerking, that Rube had begun his ascent.
Shortly after, we could hear him sprawling and scratching upward, and then his thin dark form loomed over the edge of the cliff, and, dead beat for breath, he staggered silently into the bushes beside us. Even in the darkness I noticed something peculiar in his appearance: his head looked smaller, but I had no time to question him.
We waited only for another glance at the guerrilleros; they were still at their posts, evidently unconscious of our movements. Rube’s cat-skin cap, cunningly adjusted upon the boulder, satisfied them that we were still at ours; and explained, moreover, the oddness I had observed about the upper story of the trapper.
Rube had now recovered wind; and gathering up the rope, we stole away over the table-summit to search for a place of descent.
On reaching the opposite side, we at once found what we wanted—a tree near the edge of the cliff. Many small pines grew upon the escarpment; and selecting one, we knotted the rope securely around its trunk.
There was yet much to be done before any of us could attempt the descent. We knew that the cliff was more than a hundred feet in vertical height, and to glide down a rope of that length is a trying feat, worthy the most expert of tars. None of us might be able to accomplish it: the first could be lowered down easily enough, and this was our intention; so might the second; but the last would have to glide down the rope without aid.
We were not long delayed by the contemplation of this obstacle: my comrades were men of quick thought; and a plan to get over the difficulty soon suggested itself.
Their knives were out in a trice: a sapling was procured, and cut into short pieces; these were notched, and tied at intervals along the rope. Our “Jacob’s ladder” was ready.
It still remained to make sure that the rope was of sufficient length. The knots had somewhat shortened it; but this point was soon settled, with like ingenuity.
A small stone was tied to one end, and then dropped over the cliff.
We listened: we heard the dull “thump” of the stone upon the prairie turf. The rope therefore reached to the ground.
It was again drawn up, the stone taken out, and the noose fastened around the body of Rube, under his armpits. He was the lightest, and for this reason had been chosen to make the first descent, as he would least try the strength of the rope—still a doubtful point. The ascent had not proved it—for in climbing up, but one-half of our weight had been upon it, our feet resting either against the cliff, or upon its ledges. On reaching the plain, Rube was to submit the rope to trial, before either Garey or I should attempt to go down. This he was to do by adding a large stone to his own weight—making both at least equal to that of Garey, who was by far the heaviest of the party.
All being arranged, the old trapper slid silently over the edge of the cliff—Garey and I giving out the rope slowly, and with caution.
Foot by foot, and yard by yard, it was drawn through our hands, by the weight of the descending body—now lost to our sight over the brow of the cliff.
Still slowly, and with caution, we allowed the lazo to pass, taking care that it should glide gradually, so as not to jerk, and cause the body of our comrade to oscillate with too much violence against the rocks.
We were both seated close together, our faces turned to the plain. More than three-quarters of the rope had passed from us, and we were congratulating ourselves that the trial would soon be over, when, to our dismay, the strain ceased with a suddenness that caused both of us to recoil upon our backs! At the same instant, we heard the “twang” of the snapping rope, followed by a sharp cry from below!
We sprang to our feet, and mechanically recommenced hauling upon the rope. The weight was no longer upon it, it was light as packthread, and returned to our hands without effort.
Desisting, we fronted to each other, but not for an explanation. Neither required it; neither uttered a word. The case was clear: the rope had broken; our comrade had been hurled to the earth!
With a simultaneous impulse, we dropped upon our knees; and, crawling forward to the brink of the precipice, looked over and downward. We could see nothing in the dark abysm that frowned below; and we waited till the light should break forth again.
We listened with ears keenly set.
Was it a groan we heard? a cry of agony? No; its repetition told us what it was—the howl of the prairie-wolf. No human voice reached our ears. Alas, no! Even a cry of pain would have been welcome, since it would have told us our comrade still lived. But no, he was silent—dead—perhaps broken to atoms!
It was long ere the lightning gleamed again. Before it did we heard voices. They came from the bottom of the cliff directly under us; but there were two, and neither was the voice of the trapper. It is easy to distinguish the full intonation of the Saxon from the shrill treble of the sons of Anahuac. The voices were those of our foes.
Presently the light discovered them to us. Two there were. They were on horseback, moving on the plain below, and close into the cliff. We saw them distinctly, but we saw not what we had expected—the mangled body of our comrade! The gleam, long continued, had given us full time to scrutinise the ground. We could have distinguished upon it any object as large as a cat. Rube, living or dead, was certainly not there!
Had he fallen into the hands of the guerrilla? The two we saw carried lances, but no prisoner. It was not likely they had captured him: besides, we knew that Rube, unless badly crippled, would never have surrendered without a struggle; and neither shot not shout had been heard.
We were soon relieved from all uneasiness on this score. The brigands continued their conversation, and the light breeze wafted their voices upwards, so that we could distinguish part of what was said.
“Carrambo!” exclaimed one impatiently; “you must have been mistaken? It was the coyote you heard.”
“Capitan! I am confident it was a man’s voice.”
“Then it must have proceeded from one of the picaros behind the rock. There is no one out here? But come! let us return by the other side of the mesa—vamos!”
The hoof-strokes admonished us that they were passing onward to carry out the design of the last speaker—who was no other than Ijurra himself.
It was a relief to know that our comrade had not yet fallen into their clutches. How far he was injured, we could not have an idea. The rope had given way close to the top, and Rube had carried most of it down with him. In the confusion, we had not noticed how much remained, behind our hands, when he fell; and now we could only guess.
Seeing that he had disappeared from the spot, we were in high hope that he had sustained no serious injury.
But whither had he gone? Had he but crawled away, and was yet in the neighbourhood of the mesa? If so, they might still light upon him. Hiding-place there was none, either by the base of the cliff or on the surrounding plain.
Garey and I were anxious about the result—the more so, that the guerrilleros had heard his cry, and were in search of him. He might easily be found in such a naked spot.
We hastily formed the determination to cross the table summit to the other side, and watch the movements of the two horsemen.
Guided by their voices, we once more knelt above them, at the rearmost angle of the mound. They had there halted to examine the ground, and only waited for the flash; we, too, waited above them, and within range.
“We kin fetch them out o’ thar saddles?” whispered my companion.
I hesitated to give my assent; perhaps it was prudence that restrained me, for I had now conceived hopes of a surer deliverance.
At that moment gleamed the lightning; the dark horsemen loomed large under its yellow glare; they were less than fifty paces from the muzzles of our guns: we could have sighted them with sure aim; and, bayed as we had been, I was almost tempted to yield to the solicitations of my companion.
Just then, an object came under our eyes that caused both of us to draw back our half-levelled rifles—that object was the body of our comrade Rube.
It was lying flat along the ground, the arms and legs stretched out to their full extent, and the face buried deep in the grass. From the elevation at which we viewed it, it appeared like the hide of a young buffalo, spread out to dry, and pinned tightly to the turf. But we knew it was not that; we knew it was the body of a man dressed in brown buckskin—the body of the earless trapper! It was not dead neither; no dead body could have placed itself in such an attitude, for it lay flattened along the turf like a gigantic newt.
The object of this attitude was evident to us, and our hearts beat with a painful anxiety while the light flickered around. The body was scarcely five hundred yards out; but though perfectly visible from our position, it must have been inconspicuous to the horsemen below; for as soon as it darkened, we heard them, to our great relief, ride back toward the front—Ijurra reiterating his doubts as they passed away.
Fortunate it was for both him and his companion they had not espied that prostrate form—fortunate for Rube—for all of us!
Garey and I kept our places, and waited for another flash.
When it came, the brown buckskin was no longer in sight! Far off—nearly a mile off, we fancied we could distinguish the same form flattened out as before; but the gloam of the prairie-grass rendered our vision uncertain.
Of one thing, however, we were certain—our comrade had escaped.